The Verdant Hollow burst with color as twilight draped the clearing, its heart a riot of wildflowers—crimson flamehearts, lavender duskpetals, golden starbursts—that glowed under lanterns strung between saplings, their light weaving a canopy of warmth over grass soft as a quilt. The heart-tree's stump stood proud, its vines a cascade of green, now blooming with white blossoms, their petals velvet-soft, spilling a fragrance like honey and rain that mingled with the smoky tang of roasting meat and the yeasty warmth of fresh bread. A long table stretched near the stream, crafted by Cal and Thom, its wood polished to a shine, piled with bowls of stew, platters of fish, and baskets of berries—blackberries, raspberries, dewberries—gleaming like jewels. The stream itself sparkled, reflecting the sky's deepening violet, its banks lined with reeds tied with ribbons Lila had woven, their colors dancing in the breeze. Saplings stood taller, their leaves rustling, while fireflies blinked, tiny stars drifting through air thick with laughter, music, and the scent of earth alive. A fiddle sang, played by Orin, its notes bright and quick, joined by a drum Veyra tapped, their rhythm pulling feet to dance, voices to rise, the Hollow pulsing like a heartbeat under a sky ablaze with constellations.
Kaelith Varn stood by the table, pouring cider from a clay jug, its amber liquid fizzing in wooden cups, her hands steady, fingers stained with berry juice. Her tunic was a deep green, embroidered with silver blossoms, flowing over a frame strong and sure, scars on her arms mere whispers of battles past. The shard at her belt was a quiet charm, its crystal catching lantern light, a relic of courage, not pain. Her dark hair was loose, woven with duskpetals, falling in waves over a face warm with life, her gray eyes sparkling, free of shadows, though they lingered on the crowd, counting each smile like a treasure. She laughed, passing a cup to Nia, her breath deep, tasting cider and smoke, her heart soaring, like a kite caught in a gentle wind, though it held a soft ache for those who'd never see this night.
Torren Ashkarn tended the firepit, turning a spit where venison sizzled, its fat dripping to flare the flames, his grin wide as he brushed herbs over the meat, their scent sharp and savory. His tunic was a rich brown, clean and snug, rolled to show arms thick with muscle, scars faded to lines that told of survival. His hands were steady, no trace of riftweaving, moving with a cook's pride, tossing logs to keep the blaze high. His face glowed, cheeks ruddy, his dark eyes bright, watching the dancers with a warmth that felt new, like he'd found his place. His hair was cropped, curling slightly, his jaw smooth, making him look younger, unburdened. He sang a low verse, rough but joyful, matching Orin's fiddle, his voice deep, grounding the night, his laugh loud when Eli swiped a berry, like he was born for this joy.
Sylvara Ren danced near the heart-tree, her bare feet spinning on grass, her teal tunic swirling, its hem stitched with gold thread, catching the lanterns like a comet's tail. Her auburn braid bounced, tied with a ribbon, strands loose and shining, her arms outstretched, freckles glowing under the light. Her dagger was gone, left in her tent, her hands free, catching Lila's as they twirled, her green eyes blazing, grief a forgotten guest, her smile wide, like the Hollow was laughing through her soul. She sang with the fiddle, her voice clear, soaring, weaving through the drum's beat, calling the stars to listen. The earth hummed beneath her, its pulse her own, and she laughed, hair flying, her heart a bloom, alive with every step, every note.
Rhydian Thalor leaned against a sapling, a cup of cider in one hand, a half-eaten fish in the other, his grin sharp as he watched the dance, his foot tapping the beat. His vest was a deep blue, paired with a shirt loose and bright, sleeves rolled to show forearms tanned and scarred, relaxed in the warmth. His blue eyes glinted, catching the firelight, soft with a pride that needed no words, like the Hollow was a ship he'd helped sail. His dagger rested in his pack, unneeded, his hands busy with food, not blades. His face was full, stubble faint, his smirk warm, curling as he cheered Lila's spin, whistling loud, his voice bright, like a sailor calling home, his laugh quick, tying the night together.
Lila led the dance, her green tunic twirling, patched with flowers she'd sewn, her bare feet flashing, leaving prints in the grass that glowed under lanterns. Her brown hair flew, a crown of flamehearts slipping, her cheeks flushed, her eyes wide, like the Hollow was a dream she'd painted. She pulled Eli along, her hands sticky with berries, her voice loud, shouting made-up steps, her giggle sharp, cutting through the music, making adults pause, like she was the festival's heart. She spun, arms wide, fearless, like hunger and loss were tales from someone else's life.
Mara sat on a bench, Sana bouncing on her knee, the baby clapping to the drum, her giggles high, her tiny tunic bright with Eryn's stitches. Mara's shawl was a soft gold, draping her shoulders, her dark hair loose, catching the fire, her face warm, her eyes soft as she watched Thom dance with Lora, his steps slow but sure, his limp a memory. Eli broke from Lila, joining Gavyn, his tunic stained with juice, his brown hair wild, his laugh loud, mimicking Gavyn's moves, his hands waving, like he was claiming the night. Their tent stood strong, joined by lean-tos and a new cabin frame, its logs fresh-cut, a promise of walls to come.
Eryn and Lora swayed by the table, passing bread, their hands dusted with flour, their tunics bright—Eryn's blue, Lora's green—stitched with care, swaying as they clapped. Eryn's gray hair was braided, her face lined but alive, her voice low, singing with Sylvara, her eyes bright, like she was weaving the Hollow's joy. Lora's hair was silver-streaked, her eyes sharp, her laugh clear, joining Orin's tune, her hands steady, like she was threading the night itself. Cal carved a flute nearby, his beard white, his tunic loose, his voice creaky, humming soft, his hands sure, like he was crafting the festival's soul.
Gavyn danced with Tira, his tunic muddy but bright, his steps clumsy, his grin wide as he spun her, his hands strong, his laugh loud, echoing Rhydian's. Tira's tunic was gray, her short hair free, her bow left by the stream, her feet quick, dodging Gavyn's missteps, her eyes sparkling, her voice sharp, teasing him to keep up, like the Hollow was her stage. Their tent stood firm, canvas glowing, a home they'd built with sweat and smiles, their place sure.
Veyra drummed, her gray curls bouncing, her cloak shed, her tunic vibrant, her hands steady, setting the night's pulse, her laugh warm, like a grandmother's call. Orin fiddled beside her, his cane forgotten, his face flushed, his eyes bright, his notes soaring, like he was playing for lost years. Nia sat close, her red hair braided, a bowl of berries in her lap, her voice soft, telling a story to Sana, her smile shy, like she was blooming with the vines, her hands gentle, like the Hollow was her muse.
They'd grown this joy from ashes. Kaelith's exile from the Crystal Veil, chasing the Codex's heart, had led her through rifts, seas, deserts, peaks, chasms, and ruins, to this blooming night. Torren's flight from the Emberfall Dominion, scarred by fire, had carved him from the Waste to the Veil's pulse, his hands now creators. Sylvara's fight for the Verdant Hollow had shaped her from healer to soul, her roots forever. Rhydian, dodging his Riftborn blood, had woven his life with theirs, his tablet gone for good. Lila, Mara, Thom, Eli, Sana, Eryn, Lora, Cal, Gavyn, Tira, Veyra, Orin, Nia—family found—were the Hollow's bloom, proof it could hold all. The Weaver's Voice was silent, its ruin buried, but its lesson lingered, a thread from the Sunken Isles to the Voidheart's crypt.
"This is what I dreamed," Kaelith said, setting the jug down, her voice soft, like starlight on water, her hair glowing, her hands brushing her tunic. "Us, here, laughing, whole. It's worth every scar." Her smile was wide, her eyes glistening, her heart open, like the Hollow was her mirror, reflecting joy.
Sylvara spun to a stop, catching Lila, her voice bright, like a bell's peal, her braid flying, her laugh loud. "Worth it? Kaelith, it's more—look at this! Flowers, music, us. We're not just whole, we're alive!" Her hands waved, her eyes blazing, her heart a fire, like she was dancing for eternity.
Torren sliced the venison, steam rising, his voice deep, warm, like a hearth's glow, his grin crooked, his eyes soft. "Alive's right, Ren. This meat's my masterpiece—eat up, or I'm claiming it. Festival's gotta have seconds." He passed a plate to Thom, his laugh low, his hands sure, like he was feeding his soul.
Rhydian raised his cup, his voice light, teasing, like a sailor's toast, his smirk full, his eyes warm. "Seconds? I'm on thirds, Torren. Sylvara, save me a dance—I'm not sitting this out forever." He winked at Lila, his laugh quick, his hands free, like he was promising the stars.
Lila tugged Sylvara's hand, her voice high, spilling over, like a stream in flood, her crown tilting. "Dance with me again, Sylvara! Eli's slow—look, he's eating berries! I win!" Her feet bounced, her grin huge, her eyes bright, like the Hollow was her kingdom.
Eli protested, mouth full, his voice muffled, loud, like a kid's cheer, his hands sticky. "I'm not slow! Lila cheats! Thom, tell her!" He waved a berry, his laugh wild, his tunic stained, like he was king of the feast.
Mara bounced Sana, her voice warm, like a mother's hum, her shawl slipping, her smile soft. "Cheating, Eli? You're both trouble. Dance later—eat now, or Lila's stealing your share." Her eyes teased, her heart full, like she was cradling the Hollow itself.
Thom spun Lora, his voice rough, kind, like a stone's roll, his grin wide, his hands steady. "Trouble's good, Mara. Keeps us young. Lora, you're making me look bad—teach me that step!" His laugh was deep, his eyes bright, like he was dancing for life.
Eryn clapped, her voice low, warm, like a story's end, her hands pausing, her eyes glistening. "This night's a gift. You've built more than a Hollow—a family. I'm proud, Kaelith, all of you." Her smile was steady, her heart woven into the vines, like she'd always been here.
Lora nodded, swaying, her voice soft, clear, like a breeze's sigh, her eyes on Sylvara. "Family, yes. We'll weave for this—banners, shawls, every festival. You've got us forever." Her laugh was light, her hands quick, like she was stitching tomorrow.
Cal set his flute down, his voice creaky, warm, like an old tree's shade, his grin wide. "Forever's right. I'm carving for the next one—benches, maybe a stage. This Hollow's eternal." His hands rested, his eyes soft, like he was planting his last roots.
Gavyn pulled Tira back, his voice loud, teasing, like a brother's call, his grin bright, his hands strong. "Eternal? I'm eating eternal, then. Tira, you're dancing—don't dodge me!" His laugh echoed, his eyes sparkling, like the Hollow was his home.
Tira spun, her voice sharp, warm, like a spark's leap, her hair free, her smile quick. "Dodge? I'm winning, Gavyn. Sylvara, next hunt's mine—biggest catch for the next feast!" Her eyes met Kaelith's, her hands ready, like she was claiming her place.
Veyra slowed her drum, her voice warm, like a hearth's call, her curls bouncing, her smile wide. "Feasts, dances—this Hollow's got it all. Orin, play faster—I'm not done yet!" Her laugh was deep, her hands steady, like she was beating the night's heart.
Orin grinned, his fiddle flying, his voice rough, bright, like a fire's crackle, his eyes alive. "Faster, Veyra? You'll dance me to dust! Nia, join—show 'em your spark!" His notes soared, his hands sure, like he was playing for forever.
Nia stood, berries forgotten, her voice soft, bold, like a bud's burst, her braid swinging, her eyes wide. "My spark? Okay—I'll tell a story, biggest yet! About us, here!" Her smile grew, her hands waving, like she was weaving the Hollow's tale.
Kaelith raised her cup, her voice clear, steady, like the heart-tree's bloom, her tunic glowing, her eyes fierce. "To us—Hollow, family, tomorrow. We're growing, always. More dances, more nights, more light." Her hands clasped, her smile full, her heart a fire, like she was lighting the stars.
The Hollow roared, its blossoms brighter, the fire higher, the music louder. They danced, ate, seventeen strong, the heart-tree blooming, the night warm, the earth alive. The Tapestry was whole, and they were too, sowing light for tomorrow, one heart at a time.